"Move it back another thirty feet," York commanded again.
(merged)
The gun cracked, and another round found the dead center.
"Another thirty feet."
Mira had completely locked onto the rhythm. She fired, sinking yet another bullseye.
The relentless recoil was starting to numb her arm, though the sensation hadn't tipped into outright pain just yet.
She had her rigorous physical conditioning to thank for that. Her muscles and bones were far denser and more resilient than the average person's.
"Take a break," York said.
He handed her another bottle of water.
The gesture made Felicia grit her teeth in the distance. She had always assumed York was universally cold to everyone, but Mira's presence had completely shattered that illusion.
He wasn't naturally detached; he simply hadn't met a woman who caught his eye.
At the same time, Felicia remained convinced that without Mira in the picture, her own excellence would have eventually won York over.
She absolutely refused to let any other woman secure a place by his side.
There had been an incident in the past with a female recruit who had taken a bad fall during climbing drills.
York had happened to be walking by, and noticing the medics struggling, he had stepped in to help lift the injured woman onto the stretcher.
Not long after, rumors spread that the woman's leg was permanently crippled, forcing her to leave the military for good.
It had just been a minor fracture from a clumsy fall. With modern medicine, there was no reason it should have led to a permanent disability.
But the reality was that her bones simply never healed properly.
Everyone assumed she had some underlying medical condition. Even York believed that to be the case.
Only Felicia knew the actual truth behind that tragedy.
Back on the training grounds, Mira's clothes were damp with exertion. She rolled her stiff shoulder, took a few gulps of water, and slumped onto a nearby bench.
A few soldiers flashed her a thumbs-up. "Miss Mercer, you're the real deal.

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